The maroon T-shirt Scotch-taped to an oval frame was definitely a mirror. It had to be. And Massie was desperate for a peek.
There had to be some explanation for his lack of interest in their conversation. After all, no guy as hawt as Chris Abeley could possibly be this depressed over a girl. Could he? Another excited tingle zipped through her body. After a year of ESP, she would never have to ask herself these ah-nnoying boy questions again—she would already know all the answers.
“Oh,” Massie chirped with exaggerated curiosity. “What’s under here?” She pinched the bottom of the shirt, cocked her head, and lifted it—
“Stop!” Chris cast his guitar aside, creating a hollow off-key twang when it met the wood floor.
Massie quickly released her grip. The shirt swung back into place.
“What is it?”
“A mirror.” He raced over, making doubly sure the shirt was back in place. “Well, it was. I covered it.”
“Why?”
“When I look at myself, I see—” His voice caught, then drifted.
“What?” Massie made extreme eye contact. Chris met her gaze and held it again. And just like that, her pupils begged for mercy. As if his hawtness exuded rays more damaging than the Caribbean sun. “Tell me what you see,” she managed.
“Her. I see her.” He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.
Massie sighed in a poor-little-thing sort of way and rested a hand on his curved spine.
Chris grinned, trying to force happiness that wouldn’t come. It became clear that his indifference to Massie went far beyond over-parted bangs and matte lips. He was a true romantic who was truly heartbroken. Which was both ah-dorable and ah-nnoying at the same time.
“Have you tried listening to music?” Massie suggested. “That always cheers me up. Sometimes the words can be very uplifting.”
Chris shuffled to the other side of his room, resting his lacrosse-toned butt on the corner of his glass (IKEA?) desk. He folded his arms across his chest and mumbled, “Open the closet.”
Massie took apprehensive steps toward the narrow white door to the right of his bed. She placed her hand on the plastic, made-to-look-like-crystal knob, and then glanced back, letting Chris know she was about to turn it.
He shrugged in a knock-yourself-out sort of way.
So she did.
“Ehmagawd,” she gasped. “You have so many A&F henleys in here. Why don’t you wear them anymore? They’re so ah-dorable.” She ran her fingers along the spring-scented, Bounce-softened sleeves.
“They remind me of—”
Massie turned to face him. “Why? Did she buy them for you?” Chris shook his head no. “But I wore them sometimes when we were hanging out.”
“Oh.” Massie tried her best to sound sympathetic. The truth was, if Chris’s eyes weren’t so navy and his hair wasn’t so shaggy and his teeth weren’t so white, she might have used the tough-love approach. A get-over-it speech followed by a snap-out-of-it slap. But his magnetic hawtness made doing anything but staring impossible.
“What does your closet have to do with music?”
“Look closer.”
“Oh.”
Surrounding the henleys, below the shelf crowded with a weathered lacrosse stick, beat-up cleats, old comics, and obsolete Game Boys, the inside walls were covered in music lyrics. They had been written in red marker, mostly on a sloping diagonal, in thin all-caps.
ON MY KNEES I’LL ASK,
LAST CHANCE FOR ONE LAST DANCE.
—NICKELBACK, “FAR AWAY”
HOW COULD WE QUIT SOMETHING
WE NEVER EVEN TRIED?
—NICK LACHEY, “I CAN’T HATE YOU ANYMORE”
SO DONE WITH WISHING SHE WAS STILL HERE.
—NE-YO, “SO SICK”
Massie turned away in horror.
“You should paint over those ay-sap. They’re not healthy.”
Chris half-laughed, like it finally registered that she was there.
“How ’bout something more positive, like, ‘In letting you go, I’m loving myself.’”
She paused so her words of wisdom could penetrate. But Chris’s head continued to hang.
“It’s JoJo. ‘Too Little Too Late.’”
“I know who it is.” His smile faded. “That was her favorite song.”
Massie felt a rush of heat flare up inside her entire body. How could she have been so stupid? But then again, how was she supposed to know Fawn was a JoJo fan?
All hawtness aside, it was time for the direct approach. “Maybe if you found a new girlfriend, you’d forget all about—”
Chris lifted his eyes. “Have anyone in mind?” He grinned, suspecting she was referring to herself.
Massie blushed. “Um, how about someone like Skye Hamilton?” she answered, keeping her mission in mind.
“Skye Hamilton, huh?” He grinned suspiciously.
“Yeah, why not? Don’t you think she’s pretty?”
Massie held her breath, terrified of his response.
He shrugged.
She exhaled.
“Because I bet you could get her. In fact—”
Chris stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and shuffled to his shelf of awards. “What kind of girl breaks up with a guy for spending time with his horse?” he mumbled.
Massie closed the closet door and hurried to his side.
“So that’s really why she dumped you?” Massie thought of Brownie and felt a loving pinch behind her eyes. “That is pretty evil.” She paused to swallow back her emotions. “But Skye ah-dores horses. She would never do that to you.”
“Why are you so into helping me?”
“Um…” Massie felt her heart beat in her ears. “Because I live for horses. And, um, horses can sense when we’re sad. Which means Tricky knows you’re sad, and that makes her sad, and that makes me sad.”
A smile slowly spread across his face.
Massie giggled shyly and took a small step back.
“You really love animals, don’t you?”
She grin-nodded.
He stared.
She lowered her amber eyes.
He continued staring. “Did you know that there are more than three hundred different breeds of horses and ponies on the planet?”
“Yup.” Massie took a step closer. “And there are seven hundred and fifty million horses in the world. I read an article in Teen Vogue last year about a horseback-riding camp for handicapped kids.”
“Yeah?” He nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“No.” Massie twirled the Tiffany diamond stud in her ear. “That’s the point.”
He raised his left eyebrow in playful confusion.
“I never read human-interest news stories in magazines. I go straight to the horoscopes, read the beauty and fashion tips, then look at the pictures.” Massie said with pride. “That’s how much I ah-dore horses.”
Chris placed his hands on her shoulders and looked straight at her. “I would have read it too.”
Was Chris hitting on her? Was she hitting back? What if he lip-kissed her? What if he didn’t? What about Derrington? And Skye? Massie’s hard drive was about to crash. There were so many questions and not nearly enough answers. Rarely was there a situation she didn’t know how to handle. But without the wisdom of ESP, hawt boys were to her like Kryptonite was to Superman.
“Um, lemme see your ribbons.” She quickly forced herself out from under his electrifying grip and moved closer to the highly decorated shelf.
“So we’ll both be at riding camp,” Chris said, his breath warm against the back of her neck.
“Yup.” Massie pretended she was too mesmerized by his first-place gold cup to give the summer, or his soapy cologne, much thought. Romantic sunrise rides to Hunter Lake, trail-racing before lunch, and twilight grooming sessions with Tricky and Brownie were suddenly all Massie could think about. That, and Skye threatening to take away the room.
It was crucial she find the willpower to put
her renewed mini-crush on pause, at least until Skye’s party was over and the key to the bomb shelter was securely fastened to her Coach chain.
“So.” Chris inched up beside her. He was starting to look like his old mischievous self again. His color was back, his eyes sparkled, and his movements were lively, like he’d spontaneously recovered from the flu.
“Did you hear about the wave pool they’re building on the roof of Briarwood?”
“Yeah.” Massie lifted his gold first-place hurdles award and examined it like a jewelry appraiser.
“Well, they start filling it on Wednesday. After school.”
“Really.” She placed the gold statue of the jumping horse back on the shelf.
“Yeah.” He paused. “They’re having a whole dedication ceremony.”
“Cool.” She touched his blue grooming ribbon. It was just as silky as hers.
“And if you’re gonna be there, maybe we can hang out,” he added. Massie let the ribbon fall from her fingers. “Um, of course I’ll be there.”
And she would.
For Skye. For the room. For the future of the Pretty Committee.
For anything but Chris.
CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION
IN OUT
Asking Layne for help DIY
Considering Chris Doubting Derrington
Match faking Match making
OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL
THE BOMB SHELTER
Monday, April 26th
2:09 P.M.
“Will you puh-lease stop looking over your shoulder?” Massie unlocked the door to the bomb shelter. “You’re making me paranoid.”
“You should be paranoid.” Kristen shoved everyone through the dark doorway as if fighting her way into a crowded subway car. “If Mr. Myner catches us again—”
“If he catches us again, we’ll have to dump more compost.” Claire flicked on the industrial light switch by the floor. “Big deal. It’s worth it.”
“Point.” Alicia lifted her finger.
“S’cuse me?” Kristen squinted. “Aren’t you the one who said this was wrong?”
Claire blushed at the memory of herself preaching morality to the Pretty Committee. She knew her change of heart must come off as hypocritical. But that was before she knew Cam was keeping secrets. And if he could be immoral, so could she. Besides, at this point it was a matter of health. Thoughts of him lip-sharing gummies on a sunlit swim dock with Nikki or cloaking her in his beat-up leather jacket by the warm light of a crackling bonfire were keeping her up at night. In class, she was either dozing off or conjuring up more stomach-churning images of her Cam with a hotter, smarter, funnier camp crush. He was betraying her and making her look like a fool in front of his friends and hers, and the only way Claire knew how to even the score and uncover the truth was to betray him back.
Stepping over the DIY scraps of denim and rhinestones left behind by the DSL Daters, Claire quickly settled into a pink faux-fur director’s chair. She glared at the black monitor and willed it to go easy on her.
“Jalapeño and cheese, anyone?” Dylan grabbed a handful of popcorn from the movie-theater-style machine and dropped it in the hard-butterscotch-flavored snack bag. “Or should we go for something a little less Tex-Mex and more tropical, like, say, pineapple-coconut?”
“Ew.” Alicia casually slid a bottle of pink Hard Candy Pussy Cat polish in the side pocket of her sleeveless black Foley + Corinna corset dress. “Are you trying to blow up before bikini season?”
“My guys like a little junk in the trunk,” Dylan gleefully insisted while seasoning her popcorn. “And who am I to deny them?”
Alicia turned away from Dylan in mild disgust. “Hurry, Mass! What if one of the guys is confessing his love for me and we’re missing it?”
“Desperate much?” Kristen passed out a steaming round of freshly brewed Starbucks nonfat vanilla lattes.
“Puh-lease! You’re calling me desperate?” Alicia smoothed the stiff white collar that was peeking out the top of her sleeveless corset dress. “You’re the one wearing a black T-shirt with a skull on it.”
“And black nail polish,” Dylan added, taking a seat.
Alicia grinned. “Did your mom see your outfit this morning?”
Kristen shook her head no. “I wore gloves and a white cardigan to breakfast.”
“Did you have deviled eggs?” giggled Massie.
The girls cracked up.
“Did you eat them with a pitchfork?” asked Alicia as she climbed into her faux-fur chair. “Were they sinfully good?”
“Did you Griffin-ish them?” Dylan busted out.
Everyone doubled over laughing, except Claire, who was fixated on the monitor, waiting patiently for it to power up and put her mind at ease.
“This has nuh-thing to do with Griffin,” snapped Kristen as she sat. “I’ve always had a dark side.”
“Yeah,” Massie snickered. “Your roots!”
Kristen rolled her eyes and blew on her latte.
All of a sudden, the monitor hummed to life. A rush of sweat pooled under Claire’s underarms, releasing a sudden whiff of ocean-breeze-scented Sure.
A black-and-white shot of the classroom filled the screen. “We’re in!” announced Massie.
The Share Bear must have been hibernating on Dr. Loni’s desk, because all of the boys were visible in the horseshoe configuration of their seats, each one hunched over a composition journal, writing.
“Remember,” Massie announced, “no one leaves until they pick a date for Skye’s party.” The bell sleeves on her purple-and-white-knit Missoni dress brushed against her cuticles, which she had been nervously picking at all day.
Everyone leaned toward the screen, showing their eagerness to cooperate.
“Pens down,” Dr. Loni’s voice instructed from somewhere in the distance.
The girls leaned forward even more.
“I asked each of you to draw a map of your heart,” Dr. Loni continued. “And now, I’d like you to share those maps.”
The grilled-cheese-and-tomato sandwich Claire had for lunch started retracing its steps. Heartbreak barf was inevitable unless Cam somehow managed to prove that Nikki was his long-lost sister and “re-gifting” was code for “I love Claire.”
“Griffin, why don’t we start with you?” Dr. Loni walked the Share Bear to the seat by the window. A shaky image of a pale-skinned boy with spiked black hair, tight gray jeans, leather wrist cuffs, and a T-shirt with a 3-D rubber gargoyle clawing its way through the cotton rocked on-screen. He reached out and grabbed the Share Bear, fixing the shot on his sharp chin and full lips.
“Um, okay.” His voice was gravelly and low. “The four chambers of my heart are dedicated to: One, taking over the family business…”
Massie highfived Kristen, who squealed with delight.
“Two, the pursuit of knowledge.”
“Ehmagawd!” Kristen air-clapped. “I love knowledge.”
“Three, Hades, my pet ferret.”
Kristen waved that one away like Celine Dion perfume.
“And the fourth chamber of my heart is dedicated to”—he reached below his desk and lifted out a worn paperback—“reading.”
“Ehmagawd!” everyone shrieked, except Claire, who couldn’t help feeling slightly jealous that everything with Kristen’s crush was going so perfectly.
“It’s like I invented him on The Sims.” Kristen fanned her flushed face.
“And what are you reading, might I ask?” twanged Dr. Loni.
“Good question.” Kristen ran her fingers along one of the bumpy pink crossbones on her shirt in anticipation.
“I bet it’s a manual on how to skin a puppy,” Dylan said.
“Ew.” Alicia giggle-winced.
“A little respect for Kristen’s crush, please,” Massie insisted.
It was totally not like her to defend a guy in skinny jeans, but his family owned a pizza empire, and Kristen seemed willing to make him her date, so it all made perfect sens
e.
“The book, Griffin,” Dr. Loni repeated with a little more emphasis.
Griffin lowered it. “You’ll laugh.”
“Wrong.” Dr. Loni clapped once for emphasis. “We’re inside the fortress of trust, remember?”
He surveyed the room. “Fine.” He exhaled. “It’s The Notebook, by Nicholas Sparks.”
Surprisingly, not one boy laughed.
“Ehmagawd, I loved that book!” Kristen gushed. “I bawled when I finished it. B-A-W-L-E-D, wept!”
“Yeah, but you’re a girl.” Dylan snickered.
Massie elbowed her in the ribs. “I think it’s sweet.”
“Do you want to tell us why this book speaks to you?” Dr. Loni pushed.
“Why wouldn’t it?” Griffin sounded defensive. “It’s a time-honored romance about love lost and found again.”
Claire listened for the inevitable snickers and jabs, but the boys were curiously silent.
Dr. Loni applauded. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He paused and then lowered his voice. “Are you interested in continuing this journey, Griffin?”
“Say yes!” Kristen shouted like an overenthusiastic audience member on The Price Is Right.
“Continue!” Massie hollered.
“Do it!” Dylan bit off a chunk of her butterscotch-flavored popcorn bag.
Alicia and Claire giggled.
“Sure.” Griffin half-smiled. “I’ll continue.”
“Yes!” The girls cheer-clapped.
“Good.” Dr. Loni walked in front of the Share Bear. His portly torso filled the screen. All anyone could see was a big belly zipped inside a bright sweat-jacket.
“Move!” Kristen shouted, frantically waving her arms as if trying to clear a giant smoke cloud. But he didn’t. And the bear, which must have been on Griffin’s desk, facing forward, remained focused on Dr. Loni and his carb-locker.
“Now, son, why do you suppose a sensitive, kindhearted young man like yourself would want the world to think he’s an angry, aggressive member of the underworld?” He placed his fingertips together in prayer position.
Sealed with a Diss Page 9
